


It's a Terrible Apocalypse

by blackrabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17066123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrabbit42/pseuds/blackrabbit42
Summary: A/N- written for marciaelena for 2016 spnspringfling for her lovely prompt:we'll drive until the gas runs out and then walk until our feet are torn.





	It's a Terrible Apocalypse

Sam disentangles himself from Mr. Smith’s embrace. Dean’s embrace, he corrects himself as he pads naked through the early morning light to the penthouse window. Six days into the apocalypse, and he has the feeling that last names have suddenly become obsolete. Also, there’s the whole sleeping together thing. If he keeps calling him “Mr. Smith,” that’s just creepy. 

He’s had another one of those dreams. The ones with Dean in them. Only, this one was different. “Lebanon,” he whispers to the early morning sunrise. “Lebanon, Kansas.” In the dream, he and Dean were living in Kansas. The other dreams had felt like memories, this one felt like a premonition. Didn’t matter, it was all just his head playing tricks on him anyway. With everything they’d been through, trippy dreams should come as no surprise. 

The sun was just rising in the east, and in the pre-dawn, everything almost looked normal. Most of the fires had died down, and some buildings and streets still had electricity running. Sam could almost pretend there were people in those buildings, pretend that everyone else hadn’t been raptured away. But there really wasn’t any point. They weren’t coming back.

“Sam?” Dean calls sleepily from his bed. 

“I’m here,” Sam assures him. It was something they’d needed to do for each other often these past few days. The first time Sam lost sight of Dean when they’d gone out to scout around the city, the fear that jackknifed through his heart was something that he hadn’t felt since… Since when? When he tried to think back, he got a spiky sort of headache and no answers. 

Then Dean is behind him, sliding his arms around Sam’s waist, his skin warm and reassuring and real. Dean clings on tight, as if he’s afraid Sam will disappear too.  
“You know those dreams you’ve been having?” Dean asks, his voice still rough and unused from sleep. “I had one last night too. Only…”

Sam turns around to face Dean, ignoring for a moment the way their bodies brush and bump against each other. “It was different this time?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, “how’d you know?”

“Mine were different last night too,” Sam says. “What did you dream?”

“Well, don’t tell my Prius,” Dean says sheepishly, “but I dreamt I was driving cross country in this old car. Some giant hulk of a gas-guzzler. Black, clunky, totally not me. But it just felt good. Felt right.”

“Any idea where you were headed?” Sam asks cautiously. The idea of Dean driving away from him makes him pull Dean closer. 

“We, not me,” Dean clarifies. “I don’t know where we were going.”

“Kansas,” says Sam. “In my dream, we were living in Kansas.”

Dean looks past Sam, out the window. “Well, I don’t see the point of staying here for very much longer, now that the Whole Foods has burned down. But Kansas, that’s five states away.”

“I bet once we got outside the city, we could drive. You said in your dream, it just felt right. This is the same thing.”

“We’d run out of gas.”

“Then we’ll hot wire a car, siphon some gas, or hell, walk.” One part of Sam says that these are not reasonable expectations. The last time Dean walked anywhere, he was probably carrying a golf bag. Siphon gas? Sam wasn’t entirely sure that was a real thing. He rode a bike to work at Sanborne, and hadn’t even pumped gas for years. Right? Right? When was the last time he… It didn’t matter. This felt right and they could do it. They’d drive until the gas ran out, and then walk until their feet were torn. Together. 

“That’s crazy,” Dean says, echoing Sam’s thoughts. “Let’s do it.” 

++++++++

They won’t have to walk though. 

Eden is going down in flames, and the guys down in new acquisitions are in way over their heads, what with all of humanity being raptured at the same moment and all. Zachariah’s having absolute shit-fits left and right, trying to figure out who went over his head and orchestrated this little unplanned apocalypse, not to mention desperately trying to find subcontractors willing to do the repair work on three of the seven gates. 

But on the sixth floor, behind office door number 642, there’s one angel who has the Winchester’s backs. 

Mneme is the angel of memory, and she thinks it’s a pretty shitty thing to leave the Winchesters stuck alone on earth as Smith and Wesson. Sure, the Winchesters have all sorts of sigils and crap hiding and protecting them, but hello??? If you’re God enough to rapture the entire human race, you should be God enough to pull a few security hacks out of your ass when you need to. 

Zachariah claims he’s too busy to deal with it, and Mneme lacks the clearance to undo Zachariah’s spell. But she can help lead them somewhere safe. She can give them dreams to help them find their way. She’ll have to pull in a few favors, and bend a few rules, but somehow, she’ll make sure that somewhere along the road they’ll find a beautiful 1967 black Impala, all gassed up and ready to go.

In a way that neither of them will be able to explain, something about it will feel like home.


End file.
